


Nessun Dorma

by siggen1



Category: Psych
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 16:16:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1694546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siggen1/pseuds/siggen1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlton Lassiter likes classical music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nessun Dorma

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mortma1984](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mortma1984/gifts), [sevsgirl72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevsgirl72/gifts).



> I am about 85 % sure that there is, in fact, some canon mention of how Lassiter actually abhors classical music (and/or all music not by some 70s rock legend or whatever), but LET'S ALL IGNORE THAT PLEASE!
> 
> Betaed by the lovely sevsgirl72, who I am proud and thankful to call my friend. It was originally written in 2009 (and has been languishing in a WiP folder for years because I didn't realize it was finished) because my "non-lesbian life partner" mortma1984 had sent me on a Psych bender, which she tends to do from time to time. Thank you for that.

Carlton Lassiter likes classical music. He's not ashamed to admit it. Or, well, he _doesn't_ admit it, but that still doesn't mean he's ashamed, as such, more that nobody has ever asked. There's nothing wrong with liking classical music, especially when everything else is just  _loud_ and annoying and keeps him from thinking, and yes, he knows exactly how old he sounds when he says things like that.

Still, that's not even half as old as he _feels_ on nights like this, when investigations pour into their eighteenth hour and the coffee maker has been running continuously since before the Chief left at nine. O'Hara switched them to decaf - not as stealthily as she thought - around midnight to stave off caffeine shock, but he switched them back - far more stealthily - for the next pot, and told her to get some sleep. She wouldn't budge and warned him, in no uncertain terms, that if he said the words "O'Hara" and "home" one more time she'd show him exactly how much her hand-to-hand skills have improved in the past few years. Now, they're sitting by the table in the conference room going over endless sheets of paper.

Carlton’s so tired he could probably fall asleep right here, with his head resting on the table. His back is aching, his head is pounding, his eyes are itching and God, he just feels plain _old_. They’ve been at it since early this morning, and it doesn’t seem like they’re near anything even remotely close to a lead, and if he leans back _just so_ his neck makes a disgusting creaking sound.

Carlton knows deep in his gut that the answer they're looking for is somewhere in the giant piles in front of them, but he's equally sure that they won't know what it is until they see it, which is why they're the only two people who can do this.

He put a CD in the player a few hours ago. O'Hara gave him a sideways look when she heard violins, cellos and flutes instead of guitars and drums, but didn't say anything.

He gets up to get another cup of coffee, and for a moment his head spins. He has to clutch the edge of the table tightly to stop from falling.

"Carlton, are you alright?" O'Hara looks worried, so he takes a deep breath and makes a conscious effort to relax.

"I'm fine, just a head-rush."

"Have you eaten since we had pizza?"

He thinks for a moment. Pizzas were around five, and...

"No, I haven't."

"Carlton!" Her voice is exasperation, mother-hen instinct and just a little bit of amusement.

"Why, have you eaten?"

She holds up the wrappers of three powerbars in response, before fishing another one out of her purse.

"Eat. I'm going to the bathroom and then I'll get your coffee."

He sits down and wills his head to settle down, and little by little his blood flow seems to return to normal. He eyes the mountains of paper on the table and wishes they could leave this until morning, but there is a time issue, and God, he even wishes Spencer and Guster weren't in Mexico, drinking heavily and (more likely than not) making fools of themselves.

Suddenly, he notices the quiet, just before another piece of music starts playing. It's the _Nessun Dorma_ , from Turandot, one of his favorite pieces. He smiles, remembering when he was younger and used to wish that he had the kind of voice that could do the aria justice, and acknowledges how appropriate the piece is tonight.

In a minute, the tenor will sing familiar lines about stars that tremble with love and hope, and Carlton leans back to look out the window. Even though he knows what he’ll see - there’s too much light pollution in town to see much of anything - he still lets out a sigh of disappointment at the dark sky; not a star in sight. Just then O'Hara comes back in, two steaming mugs of coffee in hand, and makes a face towards the CD-player.

"Come on, Carlton, opera?"

“It's the _Nessun Dorma_ ," he says, as if it explains everything, before turning back to the task at hand.

"Okay," she replies, in a tone of voice that clearly says that she thinks he might be going crazy. He looks up.

"It means 'None shall sleep tonight'."

Her confused expression clears up, and she smiles a little. Encouraged, he recites the next stanza in time with the singer.

“‘My secret is hidden within me, my name no one shall know.’ Appropriate tonight, I guess.”

He gestures to the papers spread between them on the table. She’s looking at him strangely again, and suddenly he realizes he’s said too much, and feels fear, ice-cold and sharp, clutch at his insides.

She doesn’t mock him, though, or laugh at him or dig up her phone to call someone and tell them what an enormous dork he is. She just smiles again, and looks back down at her papers. Somewhere inside he wonders if maybe he’s managed to make a friend, a real one, without even trying.

At some point the _Nessun Dorma_ ends, and another piece takes over. They keep working in silence until the grey light of dawn creeps through the windows.


End file.
